Retaliation
by Albilibertea
Summary: He should have known better. He should have been more careful. He had been blinded by the ephemeral illusion, too arrogant to realize when things had gone wrong. And now his family was breaking apart...


**AN:** So this is actually a gift to make up for anyone who is reading my Doctor Who/Hetalia crossover series. It's just the next one-shot is so long and I have no idea when I will be able to finish it ; v ; So here, have a little RusEng for a change. Thank you for being so patient.

**Warning: **slight non-con, mention of RusAme and my English

* * *

**Retaliation**

'Here, have some of this.' Russia said while tossing a bottle across the room. 'You look like you are going to collapse on the floor at any time now. It's embarrassing when an anthropomorphic personification of a country dies of flu.'

England caught the flying object with one hand by reflex only. His eyes were still fixed on the far horizon outside the window. He looked even paler than usual. The war had ended yet he was still in bad shape, now stuck in-between two most powerful countries and their ridiculous power play. The emerald shade in his eyes was fading to a greyer colour and his hair was a wretch, though there was still something strong in his feature. His calculating gaze on the glass showed unhidden wit, the way his fingers tapping gently on the mahogany frame, other hand swirling the bottle subtly. Russia wondered if the island nation was here to kill him. He could asphyxiate him in his sleep easily with those long lean fingers. It would be fun to break them. The crimson blood would bring out the paleness of England's skin perfectly. Russia snickered at the tempting thought. The blond turned to give him a sharp look.

'I won't, so don't.' He said as if reading the other's thought before padding to the sofa opposite to where the Russian was sitting, flopping himself onto the thing and immediately regretted it when his body met with a sea of foam without proper strings whatsoever. The Brit sighed in exasperation and flung his legs so they were perching on the arm of the so-called 'armchair'. He leaned back on the other arm and reached for the cup on the table between them absently, still gazing out the window. Russia watched everything with amused eyes, lips quirked up at the great view of the smaller nation's whole body. Painfully thin, but not fragile. He could still see a faint hint of flexible muscles beneath the dark green fabric of England's somewhat-a-little-too-tight trousers. The white-haired male let his eyes travel higher, taking in the slim waist, lingering at the colourfully long scarf that hugged the Brit's neck protectively, its redundant part plastered all over his arm and the chair. Russia made a mental note to ask England where to buy it later.

'Stop it.' The island nation said, his voice even.

'What?' Russia blinked.

'Tickling me.'

'I'm sitting all over here.'

'You are staring...no, ogling. I'm quite sensitive. And it's annoying.' England said while pouring an amount of vodka from the bottle to his glass. He then pulled out a small knife from the strap of his left boot ('No point taking it out only to wear it back minutes later. Tying all the laces of this thing is tedious.' England had said, and Russia had taken pleasure to order Lithuania to clean the floor again later)

So he is going to do it. Russia thought absently. Not that he had anything to be afraid of. He could disarm the other in his sleep. (Then again, people always underestimated England because of the state he was in after the war. And looked at what happened to Argentina. Being underestimate somehow had turned to an advantage. But this was Russia's house. He knew thing England didn't).

'I said I wouldn't, didn't I?' England mumbled. 'Gods why must everyone be so paranoid these days?' He continued when the bigger nation continued to eye the knife suspiciously. Russia knew all too well that 'everyone' here was in fact only two nations. He shrugged, smiling faintly.

'You are technically my enemy, after all.' He said. 'Your agents are now roaming everywhere on the streets of Moscow. I can smell rats.'

'And I can smell dirty money trafficking in every bloody nook and canny of London.' England snorted, rolling his eyes. 'Time is on the turn, Russia. Soon, you will find yourself no longer an Union. And we will be friends again. That is, if we had ever been 'friend'. Funny, don't you think?'

'How can you be so sure that I'll lose in this war?' Russia narrowed his eyes. 'My union is strong thank you very much.'

'So stubborn.' England's smile was somewhat distant. 'I will say that you are just trying to deceive yourself, but no fun in that. Nobody told me what to do that time too.' The last part came out as a faint whisper. Russia couldn't catch the whole meaning of it. He didn't like not knowing, but as England tipped the head of the knife to the small bowl on the table, Russia's attention immediately transferred to his movement. The island nation dipped the knife to get some pepper on the blade. He then turned back to his glass, creating a small cloud of pepper to fall to the ground in the progress but somehow managed to tip the rest to his vodka with absolute grace. The pepper sank down slowly, dragging with it a faint tail of black liquid as it headed to the bottom of the glass. England eyed it for a while and sipped a bit. He wrinkled his nose.

'Still not used to it.' He said.

'Well I'm amused.' Russia grinned at the other's subconscious pout. 'Not many non-Russians know that trick.'

'Well it's embarrassing when an anthropomorphic personification of a country dies of choking on fusel oil, doesn't it?' England mimicked Russia's accent. Not bad.

'But don't you think it's kind of insulting when doing that at my house? That trick is only for vodka that wasn't distilled carefully. Surely I won't treat my guest with that kind of stuff. I don't even think that I owe one.' Russia frowned playfully.

'You called me your enemy five minutes ago' England pointed out, setting down the glass.

'Then what are you doing here in your enemy house?' The white-haired male queried.

'I don't know. Why did you let your enemy in? You open the door for America too?'

'Never.' Russia's expression darkened, his amethyst eyes flared dangerously.

'Oh please I'm not stupid.' England hissed and took a sip from his glass. 'This whole war thing just makes the sexual tension between you two become more...intense.' He looked at the bigger male through the rim of his glass. It made his green eyes appear sharper and more dangerous somehow. Russia felt a bit self-conscious at the assessing gaze. He didn't know why.

'You have no proof.' He defended.

'So obviously you have to try harder in this war because America has already been so bored that he scratched his knees himself and come to the meeting late with his shirt slightly crinkled than normal. Also the bags under his eyes are definitely not from exhaustion of work, the git is too lazy to work more than five hours without falling asleep. He is easily startled lately and though he pretends to look vengeful when talking about you I can see a different dark glint in his eyes. People think I'm blind from America's true nature but they forget that I raised him. I know it when there is something changes. You know better than to lie to me.' England smiled. Smiled. Russia had no idea how he could say all of that in one breath.

The white-haired male pondered for a while. England's eyes were like poison. Green and exotic. Not weak. Russia mused. He could see the lie-and-you-die warning written all over it. And it was England who was holding the knife, after all.

'It was just sex, nothing else.' Russia replied eventually. No point in hiding it now.

'Since when?' The blond tilted his head to a side, his expression surprisingly calm. Oh, so he was confronting him now?

'Some day after the war in Europe was over, I think. We were both stressed out and drunk.' Russia replied calmly. England had made it clear that he had no murdering intention and the white-haired male saw no point of hiding anything now.

'Right after he started asking me out.' The island nation corrected.

'It was just to release the tension. No feelings behind.'

'He lied.' England's eyes flared dangerously but Russia could note the tears that were threatening to break free from the emerald glass. 'Am I not good enough?' The blond's words broke slightly at the end.

The Russian wondered why did he suddenly feel like a bullet had just been embedded to his heart.

Of course England was enough. Beyond, even. Russia thought. That was why America came to Russia. He was afraid. Afraid of hurting England.

In this tensing time of the Cold War, powerful nations like him and America were stressed out to their limit, hence becoming easily triggered and could turn into a ruthless monster in a heartbeat. America was aware of his insanity once he lost control but he didn't tell England. Because like everyone else, America thought that England was easily broken. The brat had always been carrying the burden of guilt for hurting England in the past, after all. And judging from the fact he loved England too much, it would be so much easier for both him and Russia to just pour their anger on each other's head. America would never let his beloved suffer the monster inside him and white-haired male agreed to do it simply because had no one to turn to.

Russia knew he was very different from anyone else, especially in his view of England. Yes, he used to believe that after all England had been through, there must be not much left of him now. No more power. No more Empire. But then he remembered that in some senses, he and England were more like each other than either of them would like to admit.

They were both shaped by a lonely and tragic childhood. Having to see the cruel of the world and fight for themselves all alone too soon had hardened their hearts and sharpened their mind. And when Russia used that as an advantage to gain power, to make people love him, surrender to him, England had curled up inside himself even more further and used that as a shield to prevent him from getting hurt ever again. America had been the first one to break that shield, and England had learned the lesson of losing himself too much to the sentimental world.

So Russia didn't see England as everyone else did. He was a dangerous island, built of deception and lies and sufferings. Being hurt and betrayed many times didn't make him broken. Being attacked and having to go through hard time alone didn't turn him into a pathetic wretch. If anything, he just became more of a genius. And an evil one. Because he had learned and experienced too much for his own good.

Other countries looked at England and America now and said that they were a happy couple, but who knew what would be going on behind those toxic emerald eyes once theirs owner was hurt again? It'd be the last straw.

And Russia realized if he wanted to beat America, this was a perfect chance.

'So what are you going to do with me now?' Russia asked innocently. England was not the only one who was good at deception here, after all. Russia could hide the true reason behind his relationship with America, let England think that he was not good enough and America would suffer because of his own love and protectiveness.

'You are not the one who lies to me. After all this time, it seems that I never learn.' England smiled bitterly. 'I believe in the inconsistency of all human characters yet I forget that countries are no different.' He shrugged and with a graceful movement, stood up from where he had been lounging on the armchair. 'I will deal with this matter myself. Thank you for being honest.'

Russia smirked at the carefully-concealed hateful look in England's eyes. Now all he needed to do was to sit back and enjoy the play. 'I have nothing to hide, don't I?' He followed England out the door and opened it for him.

'Of course you don't.' Was all blond said before he stepped out. Never once turned back.

Somehow, the icy look in England's eyes before he left haunted Russia's mind for _days_.

* * *

The sound of crystal hit the floor.

The tinkling noise as splinters of glass scattered everywhere.

There was a metallic smell...

Blood?

Good.

Russia crouched down near the vase Natalie had brought him last Christmas, which was now nothing but a mess of broken porcelain.

Broken porcelain.

Broken trust, broken love...

_Broken Union._

What was it left to him now? He had thought he had finally had a family. He had thought after all they had been through, his Union would stay strong and healthy. He should have known better. He should have been more careful. He had been blinded by the ephemeral illusion, too arrogant to realize when things had gone wrong. And now his family was breaking apart.

Russia lifted a hand to his throat, trying to breathe but he couldn't. A wave of asthma washed down on him, constricting his heart and paralysing his thoughts. A small whimper, a desperate, choking effort to get pure air into the lungs. How long had he locked himself away in his house? A week? A month? He lost track. Nobody came to him. Nobody. They all knew there was nothing to be done now.

Hopeless. America had won.

A soft creak on the wooden floor and in a blink of an eye, Russia found himself pinning a small frame to the wall. He had acted by reflex only and it took him exactly three seconds to realize the emerald eyes. After that, it took a Hercurlean effort of him not to snap that petty neck in two.

'What the_ hell_ are you doing here?' Russia asked in a hoarse voice, eyes burning to England. How could he get in here didn't matter. It was the fact that he dared come here that bugged Russia. Was he in an insanely suicidal mood or he was just being overly confident?

'I...want...to...help...' The island nation gasped out around Russia's brutal grasp on his neck. 'Please...Ivan...'

The very mention of his real name shocked the bigger nation so much that he let go immediately. England had never addressed him with his real name. Ever.

The Brit slipped to the floor coughing continuously. Russia eyed the small form at his feet with narrowed eyes. Confusion and anger welled up inside him, bubbling on the surface, ready to burst at any time. His fists clenched and unclenched. The tension was too thick that it was weighing him down. He really wished he had a finely honed knife here to cut the _damn_ thing.

'Why are you here?' He asked again, voice failed to conceal its murderous edge. 'You should be celebrating the fall of Soviet Union now with your damn ex, should you not? Thought that you two would even mend the bond tonight.' He spat out venomously. After that day at his house, England had broken up with America immediately. He had been amused. America had been in depression and shock for weeks. He had thought he had finally have an advantage.

But somehow America had changed his pain to motivation. Russia knew his plan had backfired when the American stood before him with glacier blue eyes and declared that he would definitely extract a terrible revenge and that Russia would pay.

'I have been through this.' England's voice snapped Russia out of his train of thoughts. He felt warmth on his hand and realized the smaller nation was touching it tentatively. 'I know how it feels, to see your own Union breaking apart.' The white-haired male thought he could feel the old wounds in England's heart being torn open again with each word. Foolish man. What was he doing?

'I got through that horrible time. Alone. I don't want you to be like me. You don't deserve that.' The Brit's hand on Russia's was shaking. '_No one_ deserves that.'

As England looked up at him, Russia thought his eyes looked so glassy and fragile now, as if more tears would scatter it out into million pieces of emerald glass. He felt something inside him growled darkly.

The Russian reached out for England's surprisingly soft hair and tugged him up to his feet in one swift motion, crashing their lips together. England's whimper was lost as Russia roughly invaded his mouth, exploring every bit of teeth and flesh. As they broke apart, the white-haired male glared at the smaller one.

'You want to help me? Fine. But we'll do it_ my_ way.'

He threw England over his shoulder and kicked down the bedroom door. The door felt off its hinge but he couldn't be arsed to care now. With an easy motion as if the one on his shoulder weighed nothing, he flopped England down on the soft mattress.

The island nation gasped but didn't say anything as Russia got on top of him, trapping his hands with his stronger one. So strange, England still didn't look scared. Apart from a small twitch of his body, he showed no sign of agitation or hesitation. He looked at Russia with hard emerald eyes. The faint lines where his tears had taken their courses down his cheeks were still shimmering weakly. Russia wondered who had he cried for? Himself or Russia?

He had said Russia didn't deserve to go through this alone. But why did he care? Then again Russia remembered England had made sure that America was brought up with love and attention, exactly contrary to his own childhood. But America had been an unknown child that time when Russia was now an enemy. Or was he? After the dissolution, it was hard to tell who was his friend and who was not. It was disorienting. It was giving him a headache and please, he didn't want to think about it anymore. Someone just made it _stop_!

A kiss on his forehead and Russia opened his eyes. England had leaned up in an awkward angle with his hands still trapped to give him such calming gesture. The bigger nation suddenly felt warmth bloom inside his heart. It had been long...since anyone gave him a kiss like that.

'I mean it when I said I wanted to help.' England said, smiling sadly as he flopped back down. 'I know it's hard to get you to believe me, so just carry on. Do whatever you want with me if it will make you better. Just don't hide your feelings anymore. You are not alone.' He whispered softly. 'Not this time. Not ever again.'

Russia barked out a loud he didn't know he was capable of. It startled England and even him but he really didn't know why he was laughing. Why was he laughing? What was so funny? He didn't know. Tears streaming down his cheeks, falling down, falling down. Onto England's cheeks, rolling down and down to darkness. He let his head fall next to England's, his maniac laughter muffled by the pillow.

'Isn't it fun, England?' He whispered in-between giggles. 'You are offering to help me. You, England. What can we do for each other? My heart is breaking and yours is beyond broken. Here we are, two unsalvageable souls together. How do you think it can work?' He snapped out the last words, twisting England's soft strands. It was so soft, smelled of early morning sun and Earl Grey, he thought, inhaling slightly.

England shuddered and slowly, he wriggled to pull one hand out of Russia's grasp. He let him go.

'Oh Ivan...' England sighed, running his free hand through the bigger nation's hair. 'Better a broken heart than _no_ heart at all.'

* * *

The next morning Russia woke up in an empty bed.

He sighed to himself. Of course it was just a dream. How could England be here to cuddle with him all night? How could England hold him close and whisper inanities to his ears until he fell asleep? But what bugged him most was that if it was really just a dream, why did it have to be England?

It was then that he felt a new existence in his garden. The Russian nation stood up and came to the window. As it was flung open, he was greeted with a sea of golden sunflowers blooming despite the snow. England was standing among his garden, hands holding a small pot. He mumbled some words and Russia watched in fascination as a sunflower penetrate through the earth and bloom out in a beautiful circle of orange and gold.

'Now you are turning my garden to a place to practice magic!' He yelled, wondering why relief was washing through him like tidal tide.

'Where am I supposed to do it then?' England yelled back without turning around. 'You just sprawled all over the bed like a bleeding starfish all night! I'd be a desiccated corpse by now if I hadn't got out. You really need to go on diet.'

'Hey that's mean.' Russia shot back with a quite laugh. Strange. He searched inside him for any sign of the dull, festering pain that had been his executioner for these past months but found none. Just a small, smouldering blaze that burned but not hurt. Like a little reminder. He suddenly had an urge to ask if England had had him under some sort if spell, but decided to keep his mouth shut. If that was really the circumstance, he wanted to indulge this enchantment a little longer.

Russia smiled faintly to himself and jumped down the balcony.

England let out a yelp of surprise when Russia landed gracefully onto the grass with a small thump. The white-haired nation just dusted off his jeans, grinning smugly.

'Show off.' England mumbled and turned back to his plant.

'My room is on the first floor.' Russia pointed out and walked over to England. He felt weird, how he could just casually drape his arms around the smaller nation as if he had been doing it for years. But England didn't complain, so he decided it would do both of them no harm.

'Why?' Russia whispered, eyes closed.

'You are pulverising me you oaf. Get off.' England grumbled though his voice held no real vexation. 'I just thought you could use a little sunshine to your eerie garden.'

'That is not what I meant.'

'That is exactly what I chose to understand your enquiry.'

Russia sighed. He must be insane now but he thought he believed England. He was the first and only one to step over the door that separated Russia with the world, after all. So he let the matter drop and rested his chin on England's shoulder.

'In the middle of the winter?'

'Isn't it cooler? Sunflowers among the snow. Frozen sunflowers.' England said evenly, leaning back at Russia. 'I have never been a big fan of sunflowers, though.'

'Why?' Russia found himself repeat the same question again.

'It is...I don't know. Somewhat disturbing. Sunflowers are complex. Always between the line of living and dying. Half-human as they turn to the sun.'

'If we are going to discuss metaphysics now then I propose going back inside and do something less boring.' Russia cut in, nuzzling his face in England's hair lazily.

'You are the one who asked.' The island nation laughed quietly. 'And what do you mean by 'less boring'?'

Russia stood straight back and slowly turned England to face him. He tilted his head to a side in a childlike manner, looking straight to the other's deep emerald eyes. England was no doubt beautiful, with his astute eyes and elegant feature. He was like a rose, attractive yet dangerous.

Who was he actually, though? Russia didn't sure if he knew. Yes, he did see England in a different view, but that didn't mean he knew all of things that were going on in that little genius mind. Russia was playing a danger game letting England step into his heart too much like this. But then if he had wanted a safe life, he would have taken up gardening.

'I just want to ask.' He said in a calm voice. 'What are we now?'

England looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. After a while the island nation put the pot of sunflowers down and reached out a hand to touch Russia's cheek.

'Anything you want us to be.' Was all he said before he leaned in.

Their lips touched for the second time but unlike the first, this was soft and loving and genuine. No anxiety, no brutal violence or desperate need, just...a kiss.

And the rest of the day was history.

* * *

After two months of being in a relationship-but-not-really-a-relationship with England, Russia found himself being thrown to a hard wall.

America was not happy, of course.

'What do you want?' Russia asked, glaring at the nation before him. America looked angry, no, thunderous was the right word. The white-haired male suddenly felt a little smug.

'What is going on between you and England?' America narrowed his eyes._ Fucking brat._

'If I remember right, it's none of your business.' Russia said coolly. 'You and him are over.'

A pain expression flickered in America's blue eyes before died down almost immediately._ Almost._ He clenched his fist tightly. 'Listen, if you hurt him...' The blond literally gritted out each word. 'I will give you something even more painful than a shattered Union.'

Russia's face darkened at that and a murderous aura spread out around him, but America held his ground. Oh how the Russian was tempt to spit the truth to America's face that it was England who came to him. It was England who held Russia together that time when America crushed him down. It was England who patched him back to the person he was now. Yes,_ 'person'_. Because what England did was not out of perfunctory or policy. He didn't do it because he was England. He did it because he was_ Arthur_ - a man who had been through so much to understand how all that must feel like. Yet America underestimated him, just like anybody did. England was not fragile, he was strong. And Russia wouldn't make the mistake like America. He would keep England as_ his_ and _his alone_. He was not afraid of breaking England, because England was _not_ breakable. Never was, never would be.

'I will use a more friendly term, then.' America said eventually. 'What is your relationship with Arthur?' He used England's human name now.

Russia was caught off-guard at that. He didn't know what to make of their relationship, really. Always somewhere between common friends and lovers. They did have some (mind-blowing, fantastic) sex and Russia did hold some sort of possessiveness toward England but what about the _other_ nation? Did he feel the same way? What if England's feeling for him was just sympathy? He had always been there to help Russia, but he also never told him exactly why did he do it. America's question surely had stirred a lot of doubts that Russia had always tried to bury deep down.

'You don't know that he loves you, do you?' The blond sighed.

America's words were like a bullet shot straight to Russia's heart.

'What?' His eyes widened.

America exhaled and grimaced slightly, as if what he was about to say pained him. Actually, it _did_.

'The look he gives you lately. It was_ once_ mine.'

Russia felt the whole world was being narrowed down until there were only him and America's words. His brain was floating on its own, he thought. A tickling sensation appeared as the words echoing again and again in his head.

_'The look he gives you lately. It was once mine.'_

_'It was once mine.'_

_'Mine.'_

Mine.

Russia's heart skipped a beat. The image of England standing among the sea of orange and golden sunflowers surfaced in his mind. _Mine. All mine now.__  
_  
'Take a good care of him, okay?' America's voice dragged him back to reality. The blond sounded defeated and maybe in one, one swift second, Russia had felt bad for the him_. Maybe.__  
_  
'I am_ not_ you.' Russia said in a light tone that could consider to be the most friendly one he had uttered to America and walked away.

For once since a long time, Russia permitted himself the luxury of holding onto hope again.

He smiled.

* * *

'America has had words with Russia about you, you know.' A voice from the armchair roused England from his spacing out.

'Oh?' The island nation said noncommittally.

'You seem indifferent.'

'As if I would back down just because those oafs are fussing over me.'

The figure on the opposite armchair snickered. Oh how he loved this new client. He was very very _interesting_ indeed.

'I am just curious. Why would you want to sentence them both to suffering when it is only the Russian's doing that your happiness fell apart?'

England gave him a raised eyebrow. 'Only Russia? If America had _really_ loved me, he would have told me about his fear. He would have told me that he was afraid of hurting me again.' The last part came out a little weakly. 'If America_ really_ had loved me...he would have told me the_ truth_ when I broke up, not giving me up like that.' The island nation buried his face in his hands. 'If he had really loved me...'

The figure stood up and stalked to England's back, hands came up to rest on his shoulders. 'So what are you going to do next?'

When the nation lifted his face up, his eyes were not emerald but toxic green. A_ sickly_ shade of venom and menace.

'Thanks to dear America, Russia is falling faster for me.' He said coldly, each words dripping with poison. 'I will wait for a suitable time and show him exactly what is it like to be_ hurt_.' England leaned back to his chair, looking up at the dark figure above him.

'If that Russian fool hadn't hid the truth from me, maybe things could have been different. He wouldn't have faced my wrath. We would have been friend. I still would have _helped_ him out of sympathy and good conscience.' The blond mumbled, his lips quivered slightly. 'But no. He had to let that big ego of him signed his own dead sentence. I hate him. I hate them both. Them and their stupid hatred for each other. Why couldn't they just_ think_? I really...' He broke off and shook his head in a painful motion.

The one in the shadow looked down at his client's face and smirked. Oh, he could clearly see the unshed tears in England's eyes. The island nation might ever admit it, but he had fallen for the Russian too. All this time England thought he was doing a magnificent job at feigning affectionate, slowly weaving a sweet trap for his prey to fall in, he didn't realize he had weaved_ himself_ in it too. He had fallen for the one he hated most. Again.

But it was_ okay_. It was_ fine,_ that was why he was here. England had summoned him from the depth of Hell, and he would do whatever it took to help this little client of his achieve his goal. Because England was different. He was so hurtful, so full of anger and bitterness, so lonely. But he never backed down, he kept himself above everyone and his wit intact. Just like him. Just like him.

So he would protect this one from the boring sentiments of the soft world. He would take care of everything smoothly. And he would be there when England needed him most.

He was a consulting criminal, after all.

'Don't worry, my dear.' Moriarty whispered and clasped his hand over England's eyes, his bat-like wings spread out behind them both. 'After everything is done, I would make you forget them. You won't feel anything afterwards. I promise.'

_Just because you are an interesting one._

**-End?-**

* * *

**AN:** - Quotes were mostly taken from Doctor Who episode:

*Vincent and the Doctor (the one about sunflowers)

And

*A Christmas Carol (the one about broken heart)

- A quote from Pride and Prejudice was also mentioned (the one about the inconsistency of human characters)

- I learned about the pepper trick in book 3 of James Bond: Moonraker. It is very cool, you should definitely have a look!

- Yes, the scarf that England wore at the beginning was Fourth's XD

I hope that you guys enjoy this one-shot (I still can't believe I did put some RusAme to it). It's the longest one I've_ ever_ written, wow. I wanted to give everyone a happy, fluffy ending at first but season three of Sherlock has really effected me too much it isn't even funny. Moriarty here is just a demon, though. But I do have a silly headcanon that Moriarty did know England from his last live. (My tendency to link everyone in every series I come across to England is still intact, you see)

**Hope you guys have a nice week!**

**Reviews would be lovely.**


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